To make a long story short, this sort of thing went on, at longer or shorter intervals, through all that winter and summer and winter again. My husband, in the simplicity of his nature, could see nothing but-- “The child is out of sorts; we must take her abroad for a month or two; she wants change of air and scene.” The children were quicker-eyed; children are always quick to resent unevenness of temper in those about them. A single angry outbreak, harsh word, and you may lay yourself out to please them for months before they will believe in you again. Georgie was the first to let the cat out of the bag. “Dorothy is in a sulky fit again, mother; I wish she wouldn’t!” Elsie, who has her father’s quick temper, was in the room. “You naughty ungrateful little boy, you! How can you say such a thing of Dorothy? Didn’t she sit all yesterday morning making sails for your boat?” Georgie, a little mollified, “Yes, but why need she be sulky to-day? We all loved her yesterday, and I’m sure I want to to-day!” Now that the mask was fallen and even the children could see what was amiss, I felt that the task before me must not be put off. I had had great misgivings since the first exhibition of Dorothy’s sullen temper; now I saw what must be done, and braced myself for a heavy task. But I could not act alone; I must take my husband into my confidence, and that was the worst of it. “George, how do you account for Dorothy’s fits of wretchedness?” “Why, my dear, haven’t I told you? The child is out of sorts, and must have change. We’ll have a little trip up the Rhine, and perhaps into Switzerland, so soon as the weather is fit. It will be worth something to see her face light up at some things I mean to show her!” “I doubt if there is anything the matter with her health; remember how perfectly well and happy she is between these fits of depression.” “What is it, then? You don’t think she’s in love, do you?” “Not a bit of it; her heart is untouched, and her dearest loves are home loves.” My husband blew his nose, with a “Bless the little girl! I could find it in my heart to wish it might always be so with her. But what is your notion? I can see you have got to the bottom of the little mystery. Trust you women for seeing through a stone wall.” “Each attack of what we have called ‘poorliness’ has been a fit of sullenness, lasting sometimes for days, sometimes for more than a week, and passing off as suddenly as it came.” My dear husband’s face clouded with serious displeasure; never before had it worn such an expression for me. I had a sense of separation from him, as if we two, who had so long been one, were two once more. “This is an extraordinary charge for a mother to bring against her child. How have you come to this conclusion?” Already was my husband become my judge. He did not see that I was ill, agitated, still standing, and hardly able to keep my feet. And there was worse to come: how was I to go through with it?